


Build Me Up From Bones

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Peter, Grief, M/M, Pack Feels, Post-Episode: s03e07 Currents, Unresolved Tension, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 10:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13587975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Derek just wants to be alone, but Peter won't let him.





	Build Me Up From Bones

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X09s37tJ09s
> 
> Not beta'd.

"Hiding isn't going to make the pain go away," Peter says, jolting Derek out of his fugue of despair.

He didn't even hear his uncle approach. Didn't hear him open the door to the dilapidated cabin where he's, yes, hiding.

"What are you doing here?" Peter looks around the cabin with distaste.

Derek lifts his head. "I should ask you that," he rasps.

"This place smells like mold and misery. I don't know how you can stand it. How long do you plan to stay here?"

Derek doesn't care about the mold, and it's his own misery he's steeping in. "Just go away."

"No." Peter closes the door behind him. The cabin is small, just one room, and the windows are boarded so there's very little light. It fits Derek's mood well: dark and claustrophobic.

Peter's eyes fall on the pallet in the corner, the duffel of clothes. Then he looks back at Derek. There's no telling what he'll say next, so Derek cuts him off. "I want to be alone."

Peter rolls his eyes. "That's the last thing you need right now. You need your pack."

Derek would laugh if he had the energy. He gives his uncle a bitter smile instead. "Why would they want anything to do with me? I can't protect them."

He couldn't protect Erica, and now Boyd has died at his own hand. Cora wants him to be someone she remembers, someone he can't be, and Isaac is grieving and scared. They'd be better off without him.

"You're the Alpha. We need you."

Derek's eyebrows raise. "We?"

Peter looks at the rotting floorboards with distaste, but he folds himself down to sit beside Derek anyway. "We're pack whether you like it or not." He picks away a few brown leaves from Derek's shirt, narrowing his eyes as if they've personally offended him. 

"You don't want to be a beta," Derek says. "And you haven't once submitted to me."

"So our relationship is a little complicated," Peter says lightly. "Doesn't mean we aren't pack."

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Derek's thoughts have been a maelstrom of grief since Boyd's death, but here, with Peter, they seem to be settling a little. Enough that he can organize them, come to a few conclusions. He swallows and whispers quietly. "I don't want to be Alpha."

"Too late. You should have thought of that before you tore out my throat." Peter twists his lips into a small smile. 

"You didn't leave me much of a choice." And that's it, isn't it? So many choices taken away. Derek feels like he doesn't have any control over his life at all. He's learned to stop wanting things altogether.

Peter nods. "I wasn't myself."

"But you are now?" Derek snarks. "I barely recognize you."

"The fire changed us both. You're not the boy I remember, either. But that's okay."

"Cora wants me to be that same person."

"She's lost a lot. She wants to cling to the familiar, but there's nothing there."

Derek turns his head. Peter's eyes are glowing softly. They were gold before. It reminds Derek just how much his uncle has changed. The old Peter would never kill his family. Then again, the old Derek couldn't have killed Peter, either. 

"Is there really nothing?" Derek asks. Peter was once his friend. His confidant. He'd had a crush on his uncle from the time he was thirteen and realized he liked boys, too. Peter had to have known, and yet he never teased him for it. Never even mentioned it.

Derek doesn't even know how he feels about Peter now.

Peter sighs. "I wouldn't say nothing."

Derek looks down at his hands. He can still feel Boyd's blood there. It had been slippery at first, but then it was just thick and tacky. Later, it'd been stubborn, like it didn't want to wash away, no matter how hot Derek ran the water or how much soap he'd used.

"Everything is a mess." Derek scrubs at his face. He can't cry. He almost wishes he could. Maybe it would be therapeutic. "I can't fix anything. I can't keep anyone safe. I just… I wish I could leave."

"You did. You came to this little shithole cabin and shut yourself away. But it's not going to fix anything."

"I mean for good. You and I both know after a couple days I'll go back to the loft and…. try. I just can't right now."

"You should find a new place," Peter says. After Boyd died there, he means.

Derek shrugs. "It doesn't matter. All of Beacon Hills is a graveyard."

"We both have too many ghosts," Peter murmurs. It's too nice. Too understanding.

"Why are you here, Peter?"

"Believe it or not, I do care about you," Peter says.

Derek stares at him. 

"You've lost two betas," Peter says, as if he needs reminding. "I know it has to hurt. But I'm still here."

"Pack." Derek tries to say it derisively. He knows he can't trust Peter. It doesn't matter if his heartbeat is steady, the man lies like he breathes. And yet…

"Yes." Peter leans in and kisses his temple.

Derek should push away. Should kick Peter out. But instead, he leans into the touch, the familiar scent, and sighs. 

He closes his eyes and allows himself just this little bit of kindness.

Peter murmurs, "This reminds me of the time we hid beneath the Nemeton for two days."

Derek remembers. He'd been terrified of the hunters coming back, but Peter made him feel safe. They ate cold canned beans and too-salty pickles while Peter whispered legends and mythology to him to pass the time. When the sun went down and it got cold, they huddled together for warmth and security. 

"No pickles this time," Derek says.

"Did you bring any food at all?" Peter asks.

Derek shakes his head. He hadn't thought that far ahead, had only wanted to get away. Unfortunately, the memories and pain followed him.

"Can I convince you to come home with me?" Peter asks. "My penthouse isn't as suited for brooding as this old place, but you won't starve."

Derek wants what's on offer. He wants to let Peter take care of everything, to take care of him. But he's just not sure if it's worth whatever price Peter will demand later.

Even after all these years, Peter still knows him. "No strings," he promises.

And so Derek agrees.

* * *

Peter's tastes have changed a little, Derek notices right away. Once, Peter would have gone for clean lines and monochrome. His tastes are still expensive now, but everything is much more comfortable. 

Derek ends up, somehow, on the plush sofa with a soft blanket around his shoulders and a mug of tea in his hands while Peter moves around confidently in the modern, spacious kitchen. Derek's eyes are tired and he manages to put the tea down before he falls asleep.

The smell of dinner wakes him some time later, and Derek's mouth starts to water. "When did you learn to cook?"

"Well hello, sleepyhead. Not that long ago, actually. Youtube is a wonderful invention." Peter grins over his shoulder and it makes Derek's heart thump louder. Peter pretends he doesn't hear it. "You can turn the TV on if you want."

Derek shrugs. He actually enjoys watching Peter cook. He stands and stretches, putting the blanket back on the couch. He walks over to where Peter is working. "What are you making?"

Peter scoops bay leaves out of the pot with a fork. "Spaghetti bolognese. It's almost done."

Derek bites hard on his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. It's his favorite food. He hasn't had it in years, though. Peter pretends he doesn't notice Derek's inner turmoil, which Derek appreciates. It takes him a few moments to get himself under control again, and then he just nods. He watches Peter add a bit of cream to the sauce and steps back. 

He clears his throat. "Anything I can do?"

Peter makes up a plate of pasta and ladles the thick sauce on top. Then he hands it over, a soft smile on his face. "Eat." He nods at a space at the bar with silverware and a napkin already placed.

The steaming hot food smells incredible. Derek takes his plate to the bar and sits on a high stool. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Peter leans back against the counter and watches him. "You have to tell me how I did."

Derek blows lightly on his first bite before he puts it in his mouth. Then he closes his eyes and moans. It's not quite the same as his mom's, but that's not a bad thing. The mushrooms practically melt in his mouth, but the flavor is perfect. There's enough garlic to choke a vampire, but that's how Derek likes it.

"It seems I've rendered you speechless," Peter says dryly. "I'll take that as a win."

Derek opens his eyes and gives Peter a smile, feeling unreasonably shy but warm to his toes. "It's perfect."

* * *

Peter never liked Lord of the Rings, so Derek doesn't know why he has the set on BluRay. Is Derek reading too much into things? Just because it's his favorite doesn't mean anything, right?

But when he looks over at Peter and sees a soft look in his eyes… 

Maybe he's not wrong.

* * *

"You're exhausted," Peter says, waking Derek from an accidental snooze.

Derek jerks and gives Peter a faux glare. "I was asleep."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Go to bed."

Derek gives him his best bitch face. He's stretched out on the sofa. He assumed this _was_ his bed.

Peter gestures toward the bedroom. "Go on."

"I highly doubt you'll be taking the couch," Derek says.

"I don't mind sharing if you don't. It's a king."

Derek sits up and looks at him. His heart beats a little faster. "You can't be serious."

"We're pack," Peter says with a shrug. "I have sweats you can wear, too."

"Can I take a shower first?" Derek asks, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how long it's been since his last.

Peter huffs a laugh. His eyes twinkle, teasing. "Please do."

Derek rolls his eyes, but he's inwardly pleased. Peter is acting more and more like his old self. And like he's not lying when he says he cares.

* * *

Wearing Peter's clothes, washed with his bodywash and shampoo, slipping between his sheets — Derek is almost saturated with his uncle's scent.

Peter lies down beside him. "Get some rest."

Derek lets out a long breath. "Yeah. Rest." 

A hand touches his shoulder. Peter's skin is even warmer than Derek's. It always has been. "It's late, sweet boy."

Derek feels warmth flood his cheeks. He hasn't been sweet since he was fifteen. But Peter makes him feel like he could be like that again, good and sweet and not a disaster.

He swallows down every word he wants to say and closes his eyes.

He dreams. Memories. The cellar first, the one under the Nemeton. Eating beans and pickles and learning about fae from a hushed voice. That same voice saying, "My sweet boy." Peter making Derek feel safe. 

But then he remembers other things. Peter burned, staring at nothing. Then burned again, eyes on Derek. "Do it…" before Derek claws his throat and kills him. Those same claws ripping into Boyd, blood that will never wash off. 

The fire. Peter, gone. Laura, gone. He kills Cora, too. His hands will never be clean.

"Shh, baby, no," he hears. Peter's voice. "You're dreaming. Wake up, now. Come on, Derek. Come back to me."

Slowly, Derek stops panting, stops feeling like there's blood on his claws. They aren't out, he sees. It's just his regular hands, and they're clean. Peter's here. Cora's still alive. He hasn't ruined everything, not yet. Maybe not ever.

Peter keeps whispering, soft and steady, and Derek feels like the words are putting him back together slowly, bone by bone. His hands move on Derek's skin and he's mending every bit that felt flayed open. 

He doesn't look at his uncle as he slowly melts into him. Doesn't ask if it's okay when he buries his face against Peter's chest. Derek inhales, slow and steady, breathing in that familiar, safe scent. Only it's not just _safe_ he feels. 

He wants to kiss him. Wants to inhale every inch of him. There's nothing new about these thoughts, and that's comforting, too. Peter hasn't changed so much if he can still make Derek feel like he's on the cusp of his first crush.

"It's still early," Peter murmurs. "Sun's not up yet. Do you think you can sleep? Or do you want to get up?"

Derek rubs his cheek against Peter's heartbeat. "I don't want to move."

"Alright, sweet boy. What can I do?"

_Hold me. Kiss me. Don't leave me again._ "Just… talk?"

Peter wraps his arms around him, holds him close, and starts talking. "Have I told you about Poseidon's children? I suppose Triton's the most famous son, but Poseidon got around. He had so many lovers and many, many children — some mortal and some immortal — but I think we'll start with Rhode. She was a goddess in her own right…"

Derek is soothed, stories of nymphs and sea gods and goddesses swimming in his head. He's awake now, though. The first rays of dawn come into the bedroom and still, Peter talks. He doesn't move away, either. He doesn't tell Derek his time's up, or that he's too tired to go on. He tells Derek about different queens and kings who married Poseidon's offspring.

Derek is so, so grateful. He turns his head and looks into his uncle's eyes. He doesn't think his soft, "Thank you," is enough, but Peter just smiles.

* * *

Derek goes back to his loft two days later. He's still grieving, but he's not such a mess. 

Peter found him broken and miserable, and somehow managed to put him back together with food, hobbits, mythology, and a few warm touches. And, funny enough, he didn't take advantage. Derek thinks it would have been easy to use it against him, but Peter didn't. 

Derek doesn't know what's coming next. Maybe the Alpha pack will take more from him, or maybe they'll wipe his pack out altogether. But for now, Derek feels a little more whole. What's left of his pack feels stronger, somehow, especially now that he knows Peter is on his side.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please let me know! :)


End file.
